Stealing the Bride (27 page)

She shrugged off her own gown with a slow, deliberate movement that left Temple’s mouth dry. With the fire behind her, her thin chemise gave him a teasing glimpse of the woman he’d loved for so long. While at sixteen she’d been a tempting little minx, now at nine-and-twenty, he could appreciate the woman grown.

She reached up and plucked the remaining pins from her hair. As he gazed at her full, firm breasts, the nip of her waist giving way to the round, womanly curves of her hips, the long, supple length of her legs, he saw her in the years to come—her stomach round and lush with their children, her arms curved around a babe, children at her feet.

And her arms, her welcoming arms, always open to him, her eyes aglow for him and only him.

It was a breathless wonder that made him realize what it meant to be a dragon slayer.

The moment he’d lost his heart to her, his course in life had been set—to give and discover with Diana the love that only two people, kindred spirits, as his mother would have called them, could find.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered, as if she feared to break the spell around them.

“I’m considering all the ways I intend to tell you that I love you.”

She smiled. “And those would be?”

He shook his head. “I have no intention of telling you.”

Her pretty mouth opened in an outraged moue.

Instead, he caught her by the hand and tugged her closer. “I have no intention of telling you, goddess. I have every intention of showing you.”

Diana’s eyes shone. “And where would you start? We goddesses are demanding types.”

“As well I know,” he said, starting to tease her lips with a kiss.

She grinned and then pressed her lips to his, clamoring for more.

As their mouths fused together, their bodies also tangled, their hips meeting in a heated brush, her legs twining with his.

Temple had never known such a feeling of completeness, a melding of emotion and flesh into a fevered, shared need.

He rolled her on her back, so his body covered hers, and contemplated all the ways he was going to show her the love he’d denied her so long.

Diana gazed up into Temple’s smoky gaze and felt the depth of his love for her reach all the way to her toes.

His body seemed tensed and waiting, ready to devour her with endless kisses, with delirious passions. His hardness pressed into her, burying its silken head into the apex of her thighs, insistent and seeking at the same time.

Her body opened to him, eagerly bidding him welcome, her legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer.

Diana gasped at the intimacy of his maleness as it penetrated her wet, heated core. He continued to ease into her, slowly, carefully.

She should be frightened by this invasion, by the unknown before her. Yet all she felt was the welcome relief of having him inside her.

Gazing into Temple’s eyes, so full of love and need for her, she knew she was his goddess, his stolen bride.

“Love me, Temple,” she told him.

His manhood stroked her, stretching her as he continued his sensual possession.

She moaned as he pressed deeper into her, bringing with him that tantalizing ache that left her coiled and tense, knotted and tangled. She wanted him so very badly, her heart beating wildly, and the need for something she didn’t understand drove her headlong into a mindless state.

“Love me, Temple,” she told him fiercely. “I’ll not wait any longer.”

With that, she caught hold of his hips and held him fast as she rose up to meet him. She let her body rock back and forth to ease him in and out, with each stroke going just a little further.

This was what had been missing from her dreams, from her desires, this masculine hardness sparking her fires into a raging blaze.

But his progress became impeded and she cried out in frustration.

“’Tis your barrier.” He smoothed her hair, and kissed her brow. “It may hurt to breach it, but ’twill only last but a moment.”

Hurt? What was pain to this wild, craving need that begged to be answered.

“Be done with it,” she begged him. “Take me, claim me, Temple.”

“Mine forevermore,” he told her, as he thrust into her and broke past her virginal wall.

Yes, it was as he had said, painful, but not for long. He kissed her past those hasty moments, whispering words of love in her ear, suckling at her breasts until that current of lightning raced down her limbs like a winged messenger heralding the passion yet to come. Her hips danced upward, begging him, nay, demanding him to stroke her anew.

And he did. He filled her, and she wondered that her body could contain him.

He rocked inside her, in and out with slow, tortured strokes, and when she thought she’d go mad, he quickened his pace, carrying her upward to the clouds yet again.

She cried out, wantonly and shamelessly, with her need. “Oh, Temple, don’t ever stop.”

His body covered hers in a fevered heat, and she clung to his back, to his hips, hanging on as his thrusts became fiercer, striving to go even further into her needy depths.

She felt the first hints of something start to take over her senses as he continued to drive into her. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear—at least anything beyond the roar of her heart and Temple’s ragged breathing.

The night spun out of control, as if swallowed up in the storm outside, by the tempest within.

Her hands grappled to find something to hold on to, clinging to his shoulders, while her heels dug into the ground, her legs pushing her up to meet his reckless pace.

Temple drove into her one more time, a powerful thrust, a claiming like none other, and she felt as if he’d toppled her into a giant chasm.

Her world exploded, sending racking waves of pleasure through her, releasing her from her former prison and at the same time capturing her in a magical spell.

How could this be true? How had he wrought this enchantment?

Above her, Temple stilled and shuddered, his manhood continuing to seek her depths as if he couldn’t get enough, driving deeper and deeper until he completely filled her, emptying himself into her.

She understood his madness—for she was still writhing and dancing on his hardness, searching for every last echo, every last vestige of this trembling bliss.

As it finally started to drift away, on ebbs and tides, her eyes fluttered open. His features held the same enraptured picture of contentment that must have been echoed on her own.

Diana reached up to cup his face, stroke the line of his jaw. She needed to know that this was real. She wanted to reassure herself this wasn’t just another teasing, taunting dream. So when she touched him, sliding her fingers over his lips, the ones that gave her so much pleasure, and he whispered the words she’d longed to hear, she knew that her dreams had come to live in her heart for always.

“I love you, goddess,” he said, placing little kisses on her forehead, her nose, her lips. Rolling slightly, he carried her with him, so she faced him, with her back to the warmth of the fire.

“And I you, Temple,” she whispered. “I love you so very much.”

They kissed again, then they lay nestled together for some time, savoring the wonderment they’d found in each other’s arms.

Eventually Diana sighed.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I’m finally and truly ruined,” she said with a glee that only Diana could find in such a statement.

He sighed and then laughed a bit. “Yes, I fear so. If I wasn’t inclined to marry you, your father would see to it.”

“Then I’m glad you are inclined, because I fear my father would shoot you before he’d allow you to become his son-inlaw.”

“Then I’ll send the duke over with the good tidings. That ought to solve all our problems.”

Diana swatted his shoulder. “You wretched beast. How can you jest about all this?”

“Because I care not what anyone says, not your father, not my grandsire.”

She nodded in agreement, then laid her head on his shoulder.

After a few moments, Diana whispered, “What changed your mind? What made you come to me?”

He brushed a hand through her errant hair. “That line from my father’s poetry. The one you found so compelling.”

“I’d say you were bold indeed,” she teased. “I can see why your grandfather doesn’t want your father’s work published.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it would probably cause a riot of passion amongst the
ton
.”

“I hardly think it would do all that,” Temple replied.

“Would you care to wager?” she asked, lifting her lips to his and winding her legs around him once again.

“Bold minx,” he said.

“I’ve only just started.”

“T
emple! Temple!”

Diana’s urgent cries wrenched Temple from the heavenly dream he was lost within.

He woke up with a smile on his face, having heard her call out like that several times during the night.

He rolled over to cradle her in his arms, but discovered the pallet beside him empty.

As his eyes now wrenched open from their sleepy slits, he blinked at the slash of sunlight pouring through the open door of the cottage.

Outside, Tully barked and complained with a frantic pitch.

“Shut up, you mongrel,” came an angry voice, then a horrible yelp as Tully cried out in pain.

Then there was a terrible silence, broken by Diana’s angry voice. “You beast! How dare you harm that poor little creature.”

This followed a
thump
and a man cursing out in pain.

Temple bolted upright and scrambled for the door, catching up his breeches as he went.

Outside, the brilliant morning sunshine blinded him, but only momentarily. He tugged his pants on and surveyed the scene before him.

On the ground nearby lay Tully. He couldn’t tell if the dog was dead or alive, but he didn’t have time to check.

“Temple!” Diana called out.

“Templeton?” came the surprised responses from the pair on either side of her.

Penham and Nettlestone
.

They started at his state of undress, then turned and glanced purposefully at Diana.

“So you thought to steal her for yourself, eh, Templeton?” Nettlestone said.

“Yes, for yourself,” Lord Harry repeated. “Tired of living on your grandfather’s benevolence, eh?” Penham laughed and turned to his former rival, now turned partner-in-crime. “Did you hear that? Quite a joke, eh? Benevolent—Setchfield?”

“Yes, yes, immensely funny,” Nettlestone said, smiling.

The man had every right to be grinning, Temple thought. He was holding a pistol.

Beyond the pair stood a gig. How they had found them, Temple couldn’t guess, but apparently they were closer to the road than even he’d thought.

“She’s ours now,” Nettlestone said, jerking his head in the direction of the carriage.

In the backseat, the one usually reserved for a tiger, Diana sat bound and tied.

They truly had a tiger by the tail, for the lady was fighting them every bit of the way. She kicked and struggled and cursed them in such a rough manner, Lord Harry blushed.

And sported the makings of a hell of a shiner.

No wonder they’d put her back there, Temple thought.

Somehow she’d managed to slip free of the gag they’d tied around her mouth. “They surprised me this morning when I went outside to…to…oh, never mind that part. They grabbed me and put this rag in my mouth so I couldn’t warn you.” She shook her head again, this time working the cloth completely off her mouth. “Is Tully…is he…?”

Temple went to take a step toward the poor little fellow, but Nettlestone cocked the pistol and shook it. “Don’t move, my lord. I’d hate to have this end in such a fashion.”

Temple froze, for in addition to being a dab hand with horses, Nettlestone was also a deadly shot.

And considering his less than stately stature, if he leveled his aim, Temple didn’t want to consider where the bullet would lodge.

Instead he tried to discern Tully’s state, but couldn’t see if the mutt was breathing. He glanced back at Diana, ashamed not to have better news for her. Ashamed that he’d fallen into such a deep and sated sleep.

“I can’t tell,” he told her.

Tears filled her eyes as she stared across the space toward him.
Don’t let this happen
.

He could almost hear her pleas. Gads, how was it that he finally came to his senses, and then
this
happened. He should never have left his post at the wall to come to her bed, he should never have…

Nettlestone puffed out his bandy chest, “Only you would leave a mutt to do a man’s job. Mark my words, this lady won’t be out of my sight until she is lawfully my wife.”

“I do say,” Lord Harry interrupted, “she may well choose me.”

Nettlestone smiled indulgently at his young partner.

Temple had news for them, the only man Diana was going to marry was the one standing before them.

His fierce determination must have shown on his face, for Lord Harry, bold with Nettlestone at his side, and far enough away from his mother to have gained a little backbone, said, “Don’t think we can’t guess what’s gone on here. But Nettle and I are willing to look the other way. She’s still got her fortune even if she might not have the rest of what should be ours.”

“As if it could have been yours, you spineless—” Diana would have continued if Nettlestone hadn’t raised the gun and pointed it—not at Temple, but at Tully. “Be quiet there, Lady Diana. For if my boot didn’t finish off that little blighter, this bullet will.”

Diana’s mouth opened further, but then it closed with a decided snap.

“Now if you’d be so kind to turn around, Templeton,” Nettlestone told him, “And let Penham here tie you up a bit, we’ve got a wedding to plan.” The man shrugged. “Sorry, old fellow, but you aren’t invited.”

Temple turned around slowly. One of the first rules of espionage was never to allow oneself to be tied up.

And he had no intention of violating that rule today.

He also knew his foe. Though new to town, Lord Harry had quickly become a regular at Gentleman Jim’s, and a favorite sparring partner among the sporting set. It was said that what young Penham lacked in spine to stand up to his overbearing mother, he vented with full force in the boxing ring.

No, Penham was a viable and dangerous adversary.

But all Temple had to do was get him into a position where he could use the other man as a shield.

Penham approached slowly. “Don’t want to hurt you, Temple. Always considered you a friend, but mind you, I’ve a bit of a reputation around town, and I’m not afraid to land a facer on you.”

“Similar to the one the lady landed on you?” Temple said over his shoulder.

Penham frowned. “Wasn’t very sporting of her.”

“You’ll be wearing one for the rest of your life if you make that harridan your wife. Consider this fair warning.”

Penham shot a nervous glance back at Lady Diana. “She’s just overwrought, is all. My mother said she’d be a handful when I started courting her, but she’d see her put in her place right enough.” A length of rope dangled in his hand. “Now give me your right hand there, and we’ll get this nasty business over with.”

Temple extended his left hand, and when Penham reached down to grab it, Temple swung his other fist.

He connected, but to his chagrin, Penham’s reputation as a tough fighter appeared well deserved.

The younger man reeled back, but remained standing. As he rose to his full height, he met Temple with a dead-eyed gaze.

Temple gulped. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Not wanting to give Harry an inch, Temple dove at him, hitting him in the gut and driving them both into the dust. He had the advantage of not being encumbered by a waistcoat and jacket as Harry was, but that was his only advantage.

Apparently Penham had also practiced a fair measure of street brawling, for he fought back with the same disregard for gentlemanly rules that Temple showed.

They rolled about in the dirt, gouging and kicking and punching at each other like a pair of street urchins, while Nettlestone shouted, “Stop this! Stop it, I say!”

Then the inevitable happened. The dueling pistol, with its touchy trigger, discharged, sending a wild shot in the air.

The fight came to a wrenching halt, Temple having pinned Harry to the ground and about to deliver a punishing and finishing hook into his face.

But it was all for naught.

Nettlestone stood beside them, staring foolishly at the smoking pistol in his hand and then down at the scene before him.

His nimble little mind must have realized that once Temple finished off Penham, he’d be next.

So the baron did the only thing he could. He whirled the gun around in his hand and smashed the butt into Temple’s forehead.

Stars exploded before his eyes, and the last thing he remembered as he fell beside the vanquished Tully was the look of utter surprise on Nettlestone’s face.

When Temple awoke, the sun had climbed well past midday.

His face was being washed by some wretchedly smelly wet cloth, and when he tried to swipe it away, it growled at him.

“Tully,” he whispered, never before so glad to see the little dog up and alive. He reached over and gave a tousled swipe at the mutt’s floppy ears. “Not about to let the likes of Nettlestone stop you, eh?”

The mutt barked twice, then sat down beside him, as if in complete agreement and awaiting their next course of action.

Temple imagined if the dog had his say, the first thing he’d want to do is take a piece out of Nettlestone’s ankle.

Not that Temple wasn’t opposed to holding the baron down and letting the dog chew the overbearing lord a good reminder to be kind to animals.

He grappled his way up from the rocky ground, one hand on his aching head, the other steadying himself as he struggled to his feet.

Around him, the Cumbrian countryside sprawled like a sparkling gem. While yesterday it had stormed like January, today it reflected only the joys of June, with blooming flowers poking up around the edges of protruding rocks and the ground sparkling with drops of rain left over from the night’s torrents.

He scanned the horizon, searching for a road or track. There must be one nearby, since Penham and Nettlestone had managed to bring a gig all the way to the cottage’s craggy doorstep.

But nothing greeted his sight except the endless fells.

He’d never felt so alone in all his life. He who was so well versed in solitude and loneliness.

That was, until Diana had come into his life. Even after he’d disavowed her, so many years ago, he’d always sought her out—across the room of a crowded ball, a glance at her father’s box at the opera. Catching a glimpse of her had always brought a measure of comfort to his heart, though at the time he’d chided himself into believing that he sought her out so as better to avoid her.

Now he knew differently. He’d watched for her because the sight of her replenished his heart. Left him with an inkling of hope for a future with her.

How many times had he lied to himself by saying that he didn’t want her?

Now that he’d lost her, his only thoughts were how much he wanted her. In truth, needed her.

And most importantly, how to find her.

“Do you know which way they went?” he asked Tully, willing to stoop to begging favors from a mutt.

The little dog stood up on his hind legs and danced his beggar’s revue.

“That may find us a meal, but hardly a road,” Temple told him.

Undeterred, Tully dropped to all fours and started trotting away, his pointy tail wagging high and confidently.

Temple started to follow, realizing that perhaps there was a track there that he hadn’t been able to discern before. However, the first sharp rock that bit into his bare foot stopped him cold.

In his haste to find Diana, he’d forgotten that he still wore only his breeches. He hoped his shirt, boots, and jacket remained where they’d been discarded in pleasure and haste the night before.

“Just a moment,” he told the dog as he picked his way back inside.

His boots and shirt remained where Diana had tossed them, though his waistcoat and jacket were gone.

No doubt Penham had taken them to replace his own ruined costume. Given the thrashing he’d bestowed on the young man, Temple supposed he should be thankful for his boots…or anything else they’d left that would aid him in following them.

Shrugging on his shirt, he discovered that everything else they’d brought along was gone.

Diana’s traveling case, his valise.

His gaze shot to the table, which now stood empty.

His father’s book of verse.
Gone.

“Wretched thieves,” he muttered as he stared at the blank spot. Temple felt the loss keenly. He’d had that book with him every day since his father’s passing.

Apart from Diana, it was his most prized possession. It had brought him comfort and solace through so many difficult times.

Now only anger coursed through his veins.

But to his surprise, they hadn’t necessarily robbed him blind. Mrs. Maguire’s sack of provisions remained, probably overlooked because the battered bag looked as if it had once belonged to the cottage’s last occupants.

Temple pounced on it, his stomach growling in delight. He caught hold of the last of the lady’s heavenly bread, the loaf that Diana had taken so much delight last night in devouring, and savored each bite—with a few tossed in Tully’s grateful direction.

“We have to find her, fellow,” Temple said. “Before they get her to the border.” Though he’d been furious with her last night, he was glad Diana had burned the special license before Penham and Nettlestone arrived. In their hands it would have meant sure disaster. Without it, it made their task of marrying her all that much more problematic.

He could well imagine they’d have a difficult enough time of it carting a bound and gagged woman in an open gig over thirty-five miles of open road—in plain sight for anyone to see.

Anyone to see.

The piece of food in his throat nearly choked him. Temple sputtered and coughed over his chilling revelation.

Anyone would be able to see her. Including Marden
.

How could he have forgotten?

He cursed loudly and roundly, Tully adding his own howling refrain. He swore not only for the danger represented to Diana, but if Marden found her with Nettlestone and Penham, the deadly French agent would have no qualms about seeing both of them left in the road—dead where they stood.

Temple yanked on his boots and then glanced down at himself. Coatless, hatless, and horseless, he would be hard-pressed to get anyone to believe he was the Marquis of Templeton, the heir to the Setchfield duchy.

As he turned to leave, the toe of his boot nudged something. He looked down to find a small book. His father’s verse, he thought at first.